


Choose, You Don't Wanna Lose, You're On My Radar

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: I haven't had my muffin yet Matt!, Kylo Ren has Adam Sackler's Sex Life, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, Saturday Night Live - Freeform, Undercover Boss, roleplaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5777437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt the Radar Technician has a corrective meeting with General Hux.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choose, You Don't Wanna Lose, You're On My Radar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [patientalien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patientalien/gifts), [imadra-blue (imadra_blue)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadra_blue/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Kylo Ren on Undercover Boss](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/170218) by SNL, January 16th, 2016. 



> I'm hardly the only one transfixed with Kylo Ren and/or his alter-ego, Adam Driver, at the moment, so the fact that I and the rest of the TFA fandom almost immediately latched onto Driver's premiere time hosting Saturday Night Live on January 16th - especially the Kylo Ren on Undercover Boss skit - is, again, utterly unsurprising. Probably the fact that this is a week out from the episode first airing is the most shocking part. Anywho, I wrote a(nother) Thing. Title comes from Britney Spears' "Radar," because Anakin is the Brit-Brit of the GFFA, and so I'm sure Kyle Ron would take it as a compliment to be compared to his grandpa.

The summons comes, nondescript and intentionally vague, in its author's trademark blocky handwriting, delivered by a bored Stormtrooper: 'Arrive at four. Dress appropriately. Be on time.' 

The requested costume is minimal, the hour is a ridiculous one normally reserved but for meetings with Supreme Leader Snoke, and so he dons it hurriedly before stomping down the corridor. He's prepared to mind-trick anyone who stands in his way, but fortunately, it's early even for the Stormtroopers to be awake for their daily conditioning. Arriving swiftly, he palms open the door and stalks inside. 

The room is dim and sparsely decorated. The immediate focal point of interest is, of course, General Hux, still in uniform, stern and unsmiling behind a durasteel desk that's almost comically severe, even for him. "On time, for once, what a surprise," Hux says by way of greeting. He gives Ren a once-over, taking in the egregious, artificial blond curls, the technician's uniform, too-lightly colored for his skin tone and ill-fitting besides on his lanky frame. He remains seated through all this, and though both men's postures and dispositions would suggest, at best, bureaucratic apathy, a trickle of something more ripples through the Force. 

"So ... Matt." Hux elongates the final consonant sound of the title, and then huffs. "No last name given," he observes, and it's almost a moral objection coming from him. "Ridiculous," he sneers under his breath, and Kylo Ren's lips quirk. "I've received an official complaint regarding your recent work." Hux then makes a show of frowning at a thin datapad within arms' reach. "According to this," he says, though Ren is almost positive he's staring at a blank screen, "you failed to correctly rewire a faulty calcinator, in spite of multiple attempts and corrections. Not only that," Hux continues haughtily, "but you were insubordinate to your fellow officer." 

"She was just a radar technician," Ren protests for good measure. "Below me. A peon. Insignificant." 

"And yet, your inability to fulfill your assignment led not only to limited base infrastructure, but also pushed back several other persons' scheduled breaks." To his credit, Hux plays his part well, face pale, lip curled in soft fury. "Do you deny your role in the day's failure, Matt?" 

Ren blinks. "No." 

Hux finally stands. Though a hare shorter, he meets Kylo Ren's gaze head-on, unflinchingly, in spite of the outlandish situation. For his part, Ren finds it difficult not to break character, though he yet manages to hold to it. 

Hux is nearer now, the distance between them closed by exacting, meted steps. "These are serious allegations at hand, Matt. Your insipid behavior today will not go unpunished." They're so close now that Ren can feel the General's breath on his face, though they remain physically separated. "Is there any reason I should not terminate your employment on the spot?" Hux queries. 

"Oh, no," Ren replies. His mouth drops open in mock distress. A piece of fake blond curl falls across one eye. "Please, I need this job," he intones. "I have to feed my wife and children." 

"I wasn't aware that you had children." Hux's eyebrow raises in hard-won amusement. 

"Oh, yes. Twins. They look just like me. Um, and like each other." 

"Yes, I am quite aware of how twins work." 'Good god, man.' Hux's shoulders shake almost imperceptibly with laughter, though his tone remains dry. "What then, Matt, will you do for me in exchange for allowing you to keep your position within this organization?" Ren outright snorts. "Shush," Hux hisses at him, and he sobers, finally managing to speak again. 

"I would do anything to keep my position, General." At this, he sinks to his knees slowly, making eye contact to ensure that Hux is appreciating the show. "Anything," he breathes, and the elder man huffs down at him impatiently. 

"Get on with it, then." 

Hux's trousers are stiff and, Ren finds shortly after opening them, so is the General's cock. He fists it a little, getting a feel for things, and watches Hux's face redden. Then, the order comes: "Use your mouth for something besides spouting outrageous excuses." 

Ren nods a little. He licks his lips, and then leans forward into Hux's erection. The General's hands ball into fists at his sides; in frustration, Ren knows, judging from past experience where they are usually yanking at thick, dark handfuls of his actual hair. The tip of his tongue strokes a vein; a couple of fingers curl around Hux's testicles, gently dusted with springy, ginger hairs. 

"I should ... finish on your face," Hux tells him after several seconds, panting between words. "Across those fake, sodding glasses; in that sodding ridiculous sodding hair." 

Ren pulls off momentarily. "Will that ensure I'll be able to stay in my position?" he asks mildly, and then laughs, breathlessly, just a little, as a gloved hand grapples at the back of his neck, shoving him forward once more. 

Perhaps disappointingly for Hux, he finishes in Ren's mouth. "Swallow," he orders, and watches Ren obey him, a rare occurrence. And yet, he's not quite dilapidated enough: "Strip," Hux says now. 

Ren stands, brushes himself off a bit. "Are you going to fuck me?" he says, toeing cheap, regulation shoes off, his workman's vest. 

"You are not at liberty to ask questions!" Hux snaps. For a moment, Ren's own anger flares. Hux watches his face with open interest as he struggles to release it. Eventually, he returns to removing his clothing. "Glasses on," Hux smirks. He waltzes backwards a few steps, coming to lean against his own desk. "Crawl to me," he says, and beckons; satisfaction streaks vaguely through the Force, though of course, he cannot personally feel it. Nonetheless, a small smile crosses his features as he drinks in Kylo Ren's nude, lanky frame, on his hands and knees, moving across the floor like a large cat. It's probably cold down there, he thinks. The smile widens. 

"Touch yourself," he says. Kylo Ren stares at him for a moment before, slowly, curling his hand around his member, and then pumping and pulling twice, three times, five. His lips part; they're a little swollen. Hux decides he still isn't completely sold on letting Ren leave without having his face covered in ejaculate. "Tell me, Matt," Hux orders softly, arms crossed over his chest, "tell me what it is you're doing to yourself." 

Ren groans softly. Eye contact is important, this has been established before; his gaze sears with Hux's as he speaks. "I'm touching my cock," he murmurs. "And my balls. It's - aah. It's good." 

"Are you cold, Matt?" Hux eyes the younger man as a slight shiver wracks his naked frame. 

"Yes." Ren's voice is clipped. He's pumping a little faster now, and his cock is leaking. 

"I want you to finger yourself, Matt." Ren nods a little, and shifts to accommodate his own fingers, slicked with his own pre-come. He squirms and grunts, and Hux can see his eyelashes flutter, even behind those stupid fake glasses. "I don't believe I said to stop narrating your experience, Matt," Hux warns. 

"I'm, ugh, I've got two fingers in my own ass." He pants, pumps a couple of times, and then slows down the process, repeating it more thoroughly for Hux's benefit, and, of course, his own. Hux's own expression is somewhat cloudy. "It's tight," Ren continues, twisting. "Real t-tight." 

"I see." Vaguely, Hux gestures downwards. "Do you want me to fuck you, Matt?" he queries. He hasn't bothered to reaffix his own trousers, and his re-arousal is evident now. 

"Yes," Ren nods. He bites his lip. He doesn't stop doing what he has been ordered to do. "Y-ugh, yes." Hux beckons and he stands, and then bends anew, leaning against Hux's desk which, like the floor, is obscenely cold. 

"Stop squirming." Hux smacks his ass, kicks his legs further apart. His own fingers, gloved in dark, flexible synthetic hide, pry, inquisitively, with modest appreciation, and then Ren hears Hux spit into his own palm. "Keep quiet, Matt." He sounds like he's smiling now. "It would be terribly embarrassing for anyone to know just how desperate you were to retain your position, wouldn't you agree?" 

Ren bucks against the sudden intrusion of Hux's cock, not slick enough to be comfortable, but not entirely unwelcome. "Y-yes," he answers after a moment. 

"You're such a slut," Hux agrees, thrusting more quickly. "Tell me how much of a slut you are, Matt." 

"I'm a slut," Ren acquiesces. "I'll do anything to keep my position. Aah. Anything you want." 

"You want this, too, don't you?" The rhythm picks up. Hux's hand reaches for Ren's cock. 

"Oh, yes, yesss, want. I want this, this is, this." Ren's responses become less and less coherent; the Force constricts, clouds. Vaguely, he wonders how this would feel with someone who could feel it, too, and then Hux is gripping violently at his hips and thrusting, again and again, until a warmth explodes and expands inside of him. The intensity of it, and also Hux's hand squeezing at his cock, gets him off again, too. He's still riding out his own orgasm, energy pulsating behind his eyes, for several moments after Hux pulls out of him. Hux, in fact, looks almost his usual standard of groomed by the time Ren is finished proper. 

It's awkward, now. There isn't a protocol between them for what happens in the aftermath, and so Ren begins tugging on his own - or rather, Matt's - clothing anew. The wig is askew; he leaves it be as a point of defiance. The glasses are as useless as ever. 

Hux's eyes are on him as he gets ready to leave. "I trust it is clear to you the degree to which your failure will be punished, Matt." Standing now, facing one another, Ren is taller, smoldering secretly underneath his ridiculous disguise. Still, their role play is not over yet. 

"Yes, General. Thank you for allowing me to prove how much this position means to me." The swiped technician's jacket flaps open as Ren leaves Hux where he found him, ever the solitary Sentinel, and back to his private chambers for reflection, redirection, and a shower.


End file.
